


The Only Exception

by The_Fictionist_Aura



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fictionist_Aura/pseuds/The_Fictionist_Aura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finch let out a sigh. She was the only exception. Try as he might, Grace came into mind. She was the one person that crushed that part of his standards. She was different from the average person. Grace understood solitude yet also made it dull in comparison to her company. More importantly though, she understood him. More than himself, at times. Partial Song-Fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Exception

As Sophie Baldwin came on stage, guitar in hand, Finch let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. With Reese almost at the end of one number and the Machine spitting out this young lady's social security, he was left to investigate alone. Luckily for him, the twenty – something year old had a large online existence, filling in some gaps easily. Yet he still remained puzzled as to why anyone would want to harm the struggling musician. So here Harold sat in a run of the mill bar, an untouched beer bottle in front of him as Sophie fixed her microphone for her four minutes of fame.

He adjusted his glasses for the third time that evening, a habit of his when he was nervous. He felt beyond out of place. Whispering couples were seated at every table besides his own. The lights were dimmed, but if he squinted, he could make out some held hands under the table, some hands wrapped around each other. It was rare that he felt uncomfortable being alone but with his current surroundings, he suddenly wished for a companion. Reese, Ms. Morgan, Carter – even Fusco. Anything to stop his thoughts from wondering to that place and time where he never felt alone – when he had someone.

"Sorry for the hold up," the blonde on stage had a low voice that did not match with her petite figure. She laughed, a touch of nervousness hanging from her. "Some microphones don't like me." A murmur of amusement ran through the crowd and Finch watched as her shoulders relaxed.

"Most of you know this song – it's quite popular. A good ol' sappy love song to end this Friday night." She strummed a few chords with her eyes downcast. Finch's mouth twitched a bit in disapproval at the neon orange eye shadow Sophie had on. He would never understand the fashion of the day.

_When I was younger_   
_I saw my daddy cry_   
_And curse at the wind_

It was a song in the minor key- felt like a sad song. Allowing his mind to drift, he noticed couples huddling close together. At the neighboring table, a man and woman had their heads touching, soft smiles on their faces and hands entwined. Harold risked a turn of the head to see the table on the other side. Two ladies, dressed in simple dresses, were sitting in a similar position. He blushed and turned away when they became to kiss.

_He broke his own heart_   
_And I watched_   
_As he tried to reassemble it_

In a vain attempt to fit in, he fiddled with the beer and took a gulp. It burned the inside of his throat and he let out a muted cough.

He had always preferred wine.

_And my momma swore that_   
_She would never let herself forget_

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. He had never done anything that rash and spontaneously stupid since…high school.

It was only in high school that he tried to fit in with others, reading the books they read, watching the shows they watched and pretending to care about what they cared about. He did it all in an attempt to make himself something he wasn't. He wasn't a social butterfly- quite frankly he was anti- social if anything. In college was where he learned that trying to fit in was just as pathetic as drawing the lines between the social groups to start with. Finch had vowed never again to succumb to society's standards, claiming that he had his own.

_And that was the day that I promised_   
_I'd never sing of love_   
_If it does not exist_

College was also where he decided one of his standards would be that he didn't need a woman to bring him down. A wife would argue over the color of the curtains and the landscaping outside. She would bicker about useless things and waste his time. Even a girlfriend was out of the question. A girlfriend required care and money to take her places. With the budget he had, he couldn't afford a girlfriend. And besides, what was love but a manipulation of hormones? Similar effects could be achieved with far cheaper methods than a relationship with a woman. It all sounded very sound and logical at the time.

_But darlin'_   
_You are the only exception_

Finch let out a sigh. She was the only exception. Try as he might, Grace came into mind. She was the one person that crushed that part of his standards. She was different from the average person. Grace understood solitude yet also made it dull in comparison to her company. More importantly though, she understood him. More than himself, at times.

At first, when the topic of marriage had come up, Harold had been uneasy. The thought of those college standards remained in his mind and he dodged the subject when he could. Finally when Grace cornered him about it, he confessed his thoughts. She had laughed.

"Harold," she had reached out and touched his cheek, smiling at his dumbfounded look. "Didn't you try to date a few times back then?"

"Well yes but-"

"And those didn't end too well, I take it. You would get the nerve to ask a girl out, she would say yes out of pity and you would have one awkward night together? And even though you would ask them out, you probably would rather study than talk to them."

Embarrassed at the truth, he had nodded.

"Did you ever think your bad experience with dating might influenced that decision?" She had been right, of course. Blurred by his pride, he had taken out the idea of a woman because none were interested in him.

_You are the only exception_

Except Grace. For reasons Finch had been unable to fathomable, she loved him. The utter geek from MIT that next to his charming friend Nathan looked like a fish out of water. Even when they first spoke, he had been a bundle of nerves and had asked her if she wanted some ice cream. In January!

He had been watching her for a few months before then. On one of his daily runs, he noticed a redhead seating on a park bench, an easel set up in front of her and a serene look on her face. Harold always admired artists. He himself couldn't draw much without a grunt of frustration and several crumblings of paper. Every day she would be working on a new project, most of them of things nowhere to be found in the park. Fish, desert camels, sea landscapes. They were all from imagination.

Finally when he had the decision to approach her, Finch had broke out into a nervous sweat, something he hadn't done since grade school. He was sweating bullets despite the freezing cold of the New York winter. Trying to calm his system down, he had ran to the nearest ice cream shop and ordered a cone. No matter how ridiculous he looked, at least he wasn't sweating nearly as much. And when he came face to face with Grace that day, her eyes automatically locked on the cone, confusion evident.

"Would you like a cone as well?"

_Maybe I know, somewhere_   
_Deep in my soul_   
_That love never lasts_

Finch missed her. Every day. There was a time where he could wake up in the morning and play with her hair while she was still asleep. They would have breakfast together in comfortable silence- neither of them were morning people. Grace would head to the park for her sketching and Harold would go off for his run. The pair always crossed at least twice on their morning rituals but it was fun for them. Like a game to see who would see who first.

_And we've got to find other ways_   
_To make it alone_   
_Or keep a straight face_

His glasses were blurry. Frowning, he took them off and rubbed his napkin on them. Realizing his vision was still blurry, he found himself rubbing them even more. Soon, his tears clouded his ability to see his hands at all.

_And I've always lived like this_   
_Keeping a comfortable, distance_

Tears rolled down his cheeks and his hands trembled. He licked his lip as a tear traveled downward. It was salty.

_And up until now_   
_I had sworn to myself that I'm content_   
_With loneliness_   
_Because none of it was ever worth the risk_

Suddenly angry with himself, he got up from his seat and limped out of the bar. He didn't turn back to see the shocked looks at the violent scraping of his chair to the floor as he left. Nor did he see the look of surprise on a woman's face as he hastily bumped into her on the street. He didn't see anything. Everything was blurry.

_You are the only exception_

Raw with emotion, he hobbled his way to the library. By the time he reached his desk, he realized he had left his glasses behind but he didn't care. Behind the monitors, he felt safe. He knew his purpose and his punishment.

_I've got a tight grip on reality, but I can't_   
_Let go of what's in front of me here_

But the tears still fell.


End file.
